


Dislocated

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [130]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: After an accident on a shout, Lyle is a brave little cherub.
Relationships: James Lester/Jon Lyle
Series: Stephen/Ryan series [130]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14456
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Dislocated

The sound of the soldiers and the science team clattering through the control room echoed around the cavernous space and carried up to the first floor.

“Here endeth the peace and quiet,” Lester commented, walking out to lean on the rail and look down.

Ryan, a rifle slung across his back, was giving orders as he walked. “Kermit, Lyle, report to sickbay now. Dane, Blade, check their kit back in.”

Lyle, walking a few paces behind Ryan, tossed his M4 to Blade left-handed.

Lester realised with a sickening lurch to his stomach that his lover’s right arm was strapped across his chest in a makeshift sling.

Behind him, Kermit was limping badly, supported by Finn.

As far as Lester could tell from a quick glance, everyone else seemed to be uninjured.

Cutter saw him at the top of the ramp and headed up to join him. “Things were a bit hectic. Jon’s shoulder got dislocated in a fall. The anomaly closed just after we got everything back through. Ryan decided to get him back here so Ditzy could sort it out. He’s had a shot of morphine.”

“And he decided I’d only worry if he phoned me…” It was a statement, not a question.

“He knew you had a meeting with the minister this afternoon. How did it go?”

“As well as can be expected when dealing with someone with the brains of an amoeba, the temper of a pit viper and the emotional maturity of a sea slug.”

Cutter laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Situation normal. Read Lyle the riot act. He’ll expect it.”

**** 

“Do I need to buy you a new phone for Christmas, chickadee?” Lester inquired solicitously, as he walked into the medical bay where Lyle was perched on one of the bed with Ditzy removing the sling.

“Ran out of charge,” Lyle said blandly.

“Lying little shit.”

“You wound me, light of my life. How was the meeting?”

“As abysmal as ever. Don’t change the subject, Jon.”

Lyle’s breath hissed between his teeth as the sling came off and his arm sagged slightly before he was able to support it with his left hand.

“Do you want me to cut your kit off?” Ditzy asked.

“Waste is a sin,” Lyle muttered. “Let’s just get it over with.” 

He stood up and let the medic manoeuvre both arms out of the tac vest and black combat jacket. By the time they’d finished, he was pale and swearing under his breath with an inventiveness that rivalled Stringer in a bad mood. Lester knew better than to get involved but he hated seeing his lover in pain.

Before Lyle could object, Ditzy took a pair of medical scissors and cut off the black teeshirt clinging to Lyle’s muscular chest. “We’re not that bloody short of kit, and that arm isn’t going over your head for a while.”

Lyle cast Lester an amused glance. “Hear that, petal? No more bondage sessions. I’ve got a note from nursey.”

Lester stared in horror at the ugly bulge on Lyle’s shoulder, which now looked almost square rather than rounded. “Jesus, Jon!”

“Looks worse than it is.” Lyle said. “Ditz’ll sort it.”

Ditzy probed the muscles around the obscene lump, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Lyle. “OK, let’s get this X-rayed. I need to check you’ve not fractured anything.” 

The budgetary tussles Lester had undergone to kit out the ARC’s medical bay with X-ray facilities had been repaid time and time again, but it was the first time Lester had watched it used on his lover. Lester was relieved when Ditzy pronounced that there was no obvious bone damage and returned Lyle back to the treatment bed.

“I bloody hate needles,” Lyle grumbled.

“Then don’t watch,” Ditzy said. “It’s not compulsory.”

“Am I a brave little soldier?”

“You’re a brave little soldier.” The medic slid the needle under Lyle’s skin and administered the injection. “That’ll help relax the muscles. Sir James, you might not want to watch the next bit.”

“Does it involved your foot in his armpit?”

“If it does, he’s in trouble,” Ditzy said, looking down at the compact surgical boot on his right ankle. “That’s strictly for the movies. I normally try to be more subtle that that.”

“He only does that when we’re getting really friendly,” Lyle said. “I’m fine, honey, honestly. You can spoil me rotten when we get home.” He cast a mournful look at Ditzy. “Careful, my wanking hand’s at the end of this arm.”

“You can wank left-handed. I’ve seen you.”

“Oi, what the fuck happened to patient confidentiality?”

“All right, deep breath…”

Lyle obligingly drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

“And again…”

Lester could see Lyle mentally distancing himself from the expected pain as he stared at the far side of the room where one of the civilian medics was strapping up Kermit’s ankle. He kept up the slow, rhythmic breathing as Ditzy took hold of his wrist and elbow, and slowly but firmly manipulated the shoulder joint back into position. 

As soon as the bulge slid back into its accustomed place, Lyle let out a slightly shaky breath. “Thanks, mate.” He glanced over at Lester and smiled. “Are you impressed by my manly fortitude, possum?”

Lester leaned forward and gave Lyle a light kiss on the lips. “Constantly, my little honey badger.”

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not a compliment?”

**** 

On the drive back to London, Lyle dozed in the passenger seat, but from the occasional sharp intake of breath when the car hit a pothole in the road, it was obvious that the shoulder was still painful.

Once in the flat, Lester insisted on removing Lyle’s boots and settling him down on the sofa surrounded by cushions.

“You do realise you’re playing to a classic gay stereotype with this many sodding cushions?”

“You have mentioned it once or twice. Would you like your best blanky, sweetpea, or is that playing to a stereotype, too?”

“I’ll ignore that. And a hot whisky as well, please.”

“You’re doped to the eyebrows on painkillers. Not a good idea.”

“Ditzy never prescribes anything that doesn’t mix with booze.”

“Only if you agree to eat something…”

“If it’ll make you happy.”

“It will.”

Lester draped a soft fleece blanket over his lover, reminding him that Ditzy had said to keep the shoulder muscles warm, and then went into the kitchen to rustle up a large plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. Lyle was well versed in the noble art of making a fuss, but Lester knew that he also had an almost abnormally high pain threshold, so any injury that could draw the occasional swiftly suppressed gasp of pain needed taking seriously.

“Sorry I didn’t phone you, James,” Lyle said softly, after clearing the plate Lester was holding up for him. “I knew you’d worry. If it had been more serious, one of the others would have rung.”

Lester kissed his forehead. “Forgiven. Now if I make you a hot whisky, will you agree to go to bed?”

Lyle grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Gentle massage is all you’re getting tonight.”

“You do know that’s a euphemism for a hand-job, don’t you?”

“Yes, cherub. I’m a government hatchet man, not a monk. And I have frequented public toilets and telephone boxes, in the days when we still had any. I’ve seen the signs – and the price lists.”

“I like it when we’re on the same wavelength.”

The next kiss was less considerably less chaste, but equally as gentle. 

“Bed,” Lester said firmly.


End file.
